


More Scenes in the Hide and Seek Verse

by fictionalaspect



Series: Hide and Seek Verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Coming of Age, First Time, High School, M/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know why I did that," Spencer whispers, hurriedly. "It was stupid, just forget it, I--"</p><p>"Don't say you were kidding," Ryan says, quietly. "Just. Don't."</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Scenes in the Hide and Seek Verse

**Author's Note:**

> Some extended backstory scenes in the [Hide and Seek](http://archiveofourown.org/works/86279) verse. I cut these because it seemed to make the story too unwieldy, and because the fic was getting too long. I also had no idea how to work them into the overall story without continuing to put in Ryan's POV scenes, which would have kind of ruined the dramatic impact of the fic. I still really like these scenes, though. They're all from Ryan's perspective.

Spencer kisses Ryan for the first time when they're 14, crammed into Spencer's double bed. Ryan has his feet tucked under Spencer's knee and they're both getting to be too big for it, for this, but Ryan's not going to be the one to say so. The things that Ryan wants and the things that Ryan gets are so fundamentally distanced from one another they might as well be part of someone else's life; Ryan's thought about that before, that maybe there's another alter-Ryan living someplace else. A taller, better looking version of himself who comes home to a neat suburban house and cookies on the table after school. Spencer is one of the only things Ryan wants that he gets to have, and he's not giving him up without a fight.

It's awkward, messy. Ryan isn't expecting it and he's not sure what to do, frozen in indecision, so he just stays absolutely still. Spencer pulls away after and rolls over on his back, so they aren't touching. He stares at the ceiling for a while and all the words are still stuck in Ryan's throat, a waterfall stopped up by a dam.

"Sorry," Spencer says eventually, when Ryan still doesn't know what to say. Ryan opens his mouth, closes it again, and then settles on, "It's fine."

It's not fine. Everything's a complicated mess inside his head, emotions too fleeting and ill-formed to put into words. He wants Spencer to do that again, to kiss him more, harder. He doesn't have any fucking clue what he wants.

"We can--I can sleep downstairs," Spencer says, after a moment. "If it's weird."

"It's not weird," Ryan says, and moves over slightly, so his shoulder is touching Spencer's. Spencer breathes in, out, and somehow it helps to calm the rattling in Ryan's chest. It soothes the part of him that wants to run far, far away because this is new, this is different, and Ryan has yet to see something new and different work out like it's supposed to. His fingers itch for a pen.

"I don't know why I did that," Spencer whispers, hurriedly. "It was stupid, just forget it, I--"

"Don't say you were kidding," Ryan says, quietly. "Just. Don't."

Spencer takes a deep breath. They're both still staring at the ceiling, as though eye contact would make everything too real.

(Not that Ryan will ever forget it. The edges might bleed a little over time, but Ryan is going to damn well remember this forever, even if he isn't sure why.)

"Okay," Spencer says. "Okay. I wasn't kidding."

\--

Ryan kisses Spencer back two years later, but not any older or wiser. It's a split second decision. Spencer laughs, his hair falling in his eyes, his shoulders slumped back against the couch, and Ryan kisses him because there is nothing, absolutely nothing else he can do. Spencer makes a startled noise under his mouth and flails the hand holding his soda. Ryan reaches over and pushes it down, guiding Spencer's hand to the floor. His stomach feel rough, shaky, and if he's jumping in feet first there will damn well not be any distractions.

Spencer pulls away to breathe, and stares at him. Ryan can feel his cheeks turning pink. He wants to get up and run away so badly he can taste it, thick in the back of his throat. He doesn't need this. (He does) He doesn't need Spencer to turn him down. (oh god, what if, what if) Ryan is just fine on his own, he really is, he's--

Spencer kisses him back.

It's real this time, no fucking around, no closed mouth kisses. Spencer has one hand on his jaw and he's licking at the seam of Ryan's lips, insistent. Ryan doesn't think about it, he just opens up for Spencer, lets him take what he wants. His pride's already shot, casual disinterest blown to smithereens. If Spencer wants what's left, he can have it.

They make out on the couch, slow and careful, like one wrong move might bring down the house in flames around them. By the time Spencer's mom comes home with the twins (A bang of the front door, shoes clomping and loud giggles, both of them pulling away so fast Ryan thinks he might have whiplash) Ryan's heart is pounding in his chest, thumpthumpthump, like he's just run a mile in gym class. He covers his erection with a throw pillow.

Spencer looks down, snickers, and then grabs his hand and tugs with wide eyes when it sounds like his mother is coming closer. "We'll be upstairs!" Spencer calls out, and they move jerkily up the stairs, as quick as they can. Ryan has to stop and adjust himself on the way. He swears under his breath; when Spencer turns to see what the hold-up is, his eyes go dark.

When they finally make it into Spencer's room, the first thing Spencer says is, "You have a girlfriend."

"Yeah," Ryan says, frowning. "And?"

"So--" Spencer says, and then breaks off. "So that's kind of fucked up, okay? Don't--Don't do that anymore."

"Wait, seriously?" Ryan says, his anger flowing out into a hot, familiar rush. There's so much adrenaline running through his system it's not hard to find the thread and pick at it, even if it's Spencer, even if it's the exact opposite of what he wants. "You liked it well enough five minutes ago."

"I didn't say that," Spencer says, and walks a few feet away. He scrubs a hand through his hair and then flutters them a bit, like he's not sure what to do with them. Ryan thinks about the last place those hands were--on his back, his thighs, his ass--and swallows tightly. "I don't know what you're playing at, but just don't okay? You do this thing--you think it's all some game, like you're the only person who matters, and I'm not going to be your fun little gay experiment--"

"Fuck you," Ryan snaps, because oh, that was harsh. It stings, because it's true, and Ryan wants to walk out and slam the door in Spencer's face. "I didn't ask for this, I didn't even fucking mean to, I wasn't thinking, you were just there, you're always just there, you're so--" Ryan cuts off, too frustrated and angry to continue. He doesn't how to explain that this is all Spencer's fault, Spencer with his hips and his smile and his long fingers and there is only so much Ryan can do.

"So learn some fucking self-control, or I'll make you," Spencer snaps, and it's like a light switch flicks in Ryan's brain. Spencer's still talking but Ryan can't hear him; it's just a rushing in his ears, a kaleidoscope of words and images that he's been quietly filing away until they make sense. Ryan thinks his hands might be shaking. He hopes he's breathing, because he can't actually tell.

"--seriously, you fucking do this, all the time--Ryan?" Spencer says, stopping suddenly. He stares at Ryan for a moment and Ryan wants to nod, wants to say _no, yes, continue, you fucking asshole, what were you saying?_ but he--can't. He can't move.

Spencer crosses the room in three strides, pressing two fingers to Ryan's pulse point, eyes wide. "Breath, breath," Spencer says softly, and rubs at the junction of Ryan's neck and shoulder. "I'm going to touch you now, okay? I mean--I'm already touching you, but I need you to sit down," Spencer says carefully. It sounds like he's speaking through a waterfall, but Ryan makes himself nod. When Spencer touches him, his body shivers; his body, not Ryan. Ryan's not controlling it. He's too busy freaking out, because all of a sudden his brain is too small for everything plastered inside.

Spencer's hands are warm on Ryan's skin, and he slips his arm around Ryan's midsection, just holding. He makes Ryan watch Spencer and count his breathes, and then try to match them. It takes a while, but everything eventually slows down, the point where Ryan's breathing normally. He's suddenly, abruptly exhausted. He wants to continue the fight, explain to Spencer why he's such a dick, but there's no energy left in him, and no anger, either.

He shoves his forehead into Spencer's shoulder and holds on, and Spencer lets him

\--

The thing about Spencer is that there's nothing to hide behind. It's both good and terrifying, and Ryan can't decide which one is more pressing, his need to keep doing this or his need to cut it off at the bone before it settles into something too close for comfort. Ryan's immediate reaction when they get famous is to find something to hide behind, a suit of questionable intentions he can wear to keep everything from spilling out on stage.

Ryan doesn't tell anyone about them, because he doesn't know what he'd say. They're not dating. It's something more fundamental than that, nothing like the one-night stands Ryan watches Brendon and Brent chase after. He and Spencer are just what they always were for each other, a messy barrier against the world. Except now they're edging closer and closer to something Ryan still has trouble naming, something that makes his heart catch in his throat and his blood pound in his ears.

Ryan throws it out there one night, because he's never been good at subtlety. Ryan feels like he's surviving by hanging onto threads, hotel-to-venue-to-interview-to-bus, jumping from one to the other blindly. He just wants some fucking answers. Ryan wants one thing he can trust, and maybe, maybe that's Spencer.

"I think we should fuck," Ryan says, after they've set their bags down and showered off the sweat and funk from the show. Spencer's hair is wet and curling a little around his ears. He looks over at Ryan and Ryan holds himself very, very still.

Ryan thinks, _one false move_ , and Spencer bites his lip and says "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, and tilts his head toward his bag, abandoned in one corner of the room. "I brought stuff."

"You think that's a good idea?" Spencer asks, carefully, and Ryan understand what he's not saying. They're--they're rough with each other, harsh and honest. Ryan has a ring of bite marks on his collarbone he's been covering up for a week, and fingerprint bruises on his hips. Spencer had apologized the first few times, looking horrified, but Ryan likes them, likes this, and he doesn't know how else to tell Spencer so. Ryan wants more. He wants everything Spencer can give him and it's terrifying, sometimes, but Ryan has never been good at seeing a drop-off and then walking away from the jump.

Ryan shakes himself a little, reminds himself that it's just Spencer as he knee-walks over to where Spencer's sitting on the edge of the bed. Spencer is the one who stole his favorite ninja turtle action figure when he was seven; he's the one who always backs Ryan up when Ryan's arguing for cereal over pop-tarts for breakfast. Spencer's the one person Ryan would trust with his entire CD collection and that makes it easy enough to sit back on his heels next to Spencer and whisper, "Please."

Ryan's looking down at the bedspread but he can feel the sharp intake of breath next to him, the way Spencer shifts involuntarily on the bed. "Please what?" Spencer says, and his voice is low, promising, a little shaky around the edges.

"Please," Ryan says again, and kisses Spencer, mumbles the words he's too shy to say out loud into Spencer's mouth, and he knows Spencer gets it when he bites down, hard, on Ryan's lip. Spencer yanks Ryan on top of him and it's rough, sharp, perfect. Spencer doesn't have very long nails but they're long enough to pull a strangled cry out of Ryan's mouth when Spencer rakes them down his back, and Ryan's begging, wordlessly, by the time Spencer has two fingers inside him. It's heady, intoxicating. Ryan feels like he's the only thing in Spencer's world, filling up his vision, but it's not a panic-inducing thought like it normally is.

Ryan feels special.

Ryan knows he's good enough for Spencer if only he tries, and he's trying, god, fuck, he's trying, he is.

\--  
[there was obviously meant to be a time gap here.]  
\--

Ryan safewords one time, _one fucking time_ , and Spencer cuts it off. Ryan's so pissed off he can barely see straight, and the cabin isn't big enough for both of them. It wasn't even Spencer, or rather, it wasn't even anything Spencer was doing. Ryan's head was just a mess, and nothing was working, and Ryan had finally said, "Fuck, stop, stop, Clementine, I need--" and Spencer had swallowed and hurriedly untied him, fingers nervous on the restraints. Once his wrists were free, Ryan realized he had no idea what he needed. He looked at Spencer for a long moment and hated the way Spencer seemed all scrunched up inside, scared and trying to hide it.

"I'm fine," Ryan tried to say, but the words came out unconvincing.

"No, you're not," Spencer said, and left. It was the leaving that did it, Ryan thinks, that made the anger flare up inside him so fast he could barely breathe. It wasn't right, that wasn't Spencer's fucking job, and Ryan was pissed. He'd dressed and slammed the door loud enough to crack the frame, and a week later they'd all been crammed into the cabin, the silences between them large enough to cover the entire mountain.

"You fucked up," Ryan hisses one night, out on the balcony. He's a little drunk, and Spencer's drunker, and this isn't the time or place and Ryan doesn't give a fuck. "I told you, I just needed some time--"

"We can't do this," Spencer says, and his jaw is set, rigid. "I'm not going to be the one who drives you crazy."

"What gives you the right--" Ryan says, and then cuts off when he sees Jon's shadow in the kitchen. "This is not your decision to make," Ryan says, quieter, but still furious. The words come easy on his tongue and Ryan thinks he should have started drinking years ago, if this is how it feels, satisfyingly free of the barriers that keep him locked up inside.

"You're drunk," Spencer says frostily. "And how the fuck should you know, you're not the one on the outside, you can't see yourself when you're like that--"

"Scared?" Ryan says, and the jab feels good, solid. Spencer flinches.

"Yes," Spencer says. "Fine, fuck you, you asshole. You scare the shit out of me sometimes and I just--we can't. I can't."

"Pussy," Ryan mutters, and it's childish and he knows it. He's not trying to goad Spencer into anything, but it's like he can't help himself. Spencer fucking left him and he wants Spencer to hurt as badly as he does. "I'll find someone else, then," Ryan says, offhand, and Spencer spins around so fast even Ryan's not prepared for it. Spencer shoves at Ryan's shoulder, holds him up against the wall and says "Don't you fucking dare."

"Why would you care?" Ryan shoots back, and Spencer just--he crumples in on himself, pulling his hand away from Ryan slowly. "I'm trying to keep you safe," Spencer says, quietly, so quiet Ryan's not sure he heard him. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, neither of us do, and everything's a mess, and--"

"Spencer," Ryan says, just as softly, anger forgotten in favor of the sudden lump in his throat. Ryan knows it's just the booze but he's suddenly full up with regret, for everything he's done that making Spencer wear that expression, like the world is crushing him into the ground. "I didn't mean, I was just--"

"I know you didn't mean it," Spencer sighs. "You never mean it, except when you do, and you know how fucking hard it is to tell the two apart?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, instead of _I'm sorry_ , because he's not quite there yet.

"You need to talk to someone," Spencer says softly. "Not me. Your fucking dad died, Ryan, and you didn't even cry at the funeral. Don't tell me this has nothing to do with that."

"It doesn't," Ryan says, but it sounds hollow even to him.

"I'm not saying no," Spencer says, after a long pause where it's just the two of them, an empty silence broken by the quiet hush of the wind. "But we're going to fuck each other up so bad, and I can't be responsible for that. I'm not going to be the one who breaks you."

"What if I wanted it to be you?" Ryan whispers, and Spencer shakes his head. "Not like this," Spencer says. As an afterthought, he adds, "I'm sorry I left. You scared me. I thought I had fucked everything up. I didn't mean--I won't do it again. I won't leave you like that again."

"You're not the one who fucks everything up," Ryan says. "That's my job."

"I think we're both working double-time right now," Spencer says. "Listen. Lay off the drinking for a while, okay? Just until--we need to come up with something. We all need to get our shit together."

"I'm still pissed at you," Ryan says, but it comes out slightly fond, without his permission.

"I still want to smack you," Spencer says. "But I think I can handle asking you to pass me the sugar in the mornings from now on."


End file.
